


and she won't cry for absolution

by virtaux



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen, it's gratuitous violence, one dark knight goes on her journey back home to right her wrongs, or: wrongs that were not her own but ones she feels compelled to fix, timeline wise this falls just before 5.2 while she's still in the source
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:01:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27486205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virtaux/pseuds/virtaux
Summary: The Fury will be left to judge you. And after that, what’s left beyond the blackened shade of your soul? Who will take you now?Early DRK Week 2020 post for the promptjustice.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	and she won't cry for absolution

Returning to Ishgard left knots in her stomach initially.

It was the first time that Rax had returned home since before her journeys to the First, and before then she hadn't had the time to realign herself. No single moment was granted for any semblance of respite; someone, somewhere always needed the Warrior of Light to fend off calamities, punish evil-doers, and fetch that odd ingredient from that gross creature.

And even when it was all said and done, there were still necessities at home that hadn't been taken care of. Not only were questions unanswered, but prayers too. Moons before her return, she knelt and whispered her piece to Halone, in some shallow hopes that there would be forgiveness among the bloodshed, among the lives lost, among those who could yet be saved.

There was silence. No reassurance. Merely an empty, cold void in between thoughts and words. Perhaps the Fury had left her behind after watching her father burn to cinders in the bosom of Her worship.

When the veil of night slipped comfortably over the city, snow had begun to fall in steadier layers. It blanketed the grounds and left visibility low, even with the flames flickering in street lamps and homes lit by wick and wood. Both Foundation and the Pillars had their charm -- rich or poor, the beauty of the cobbled streets and the towering spires left little to the imagination. Even with wooden beams splintered down the middle, or cracked debris haphazardly swept into a corner, there was a strange charm to the city as the snow gently fluttered down and kissed its peaks.

It was then that she set out, swathed in a dark cloak and sticking to the shadows. Thieves from the Brume deployed similar tactics, and some of them preferred to use white shrouds in order to blend in with particularly heavy snowfall. But black suited her fine -- it was the color of death, of unfinished business, of words left unspoken and of wilted petals, blown away by the Fury's cry.

It was good fortune that She came louder than the men that night.

The first was an older man who had hung up his armor after the war had come to an end. With his identity shielded by his metal helm, Ser Ladrian had avoided prosecution and instead clung to the family he had cultivated. Leaving a wife without a husband and a child without a father was far from her typical shade of intent, but the malice that snarled in her veins made a compromise. **_He took him from me. This is poetic justice._**

Carefully, he balanced a basket he adorned on his arm filled with a few late-night necessities. A few vegetables for the stew, a book for the wife, needles and thread. Soft thoughts of future endeavors and intentions glittered in his mind as he adjusted the contents within--

...until his vision was obscured by matte black and crimson. His eyes trained toward his hands, pressing to the sudden gash of his throat. Limber knees buckled underneath the empty weight, and blood pooled as the light flickered and faded.

She hadn’t bothered to clean the blood off of the broadsword; there was no time for that. Even so, she knelt down and swiped his brotherhood ring off of his finger. Proof of objective, of vengeance wrought, of debts paid in full. **_Keep moving. You’re wasting your time._**

The first was the easier mark. The other two, twin brothers who held similar convictions and reasons for joining with the Temple Knights, had been squires at the time of disturbia. Whereas the elder knight had done his job out of necessity and command, the pair did it for the fun of it. They were forced by their parents into the life, and while most of the commandments didn’t suit their tastes, they played along and used their ranks to benefit their own means.

The taller twin’s arm was slung around the shorter’s shoulders as he pulled him along, chuckling heartily with a reddened face after a night well deserved at the Forgotten Knight. Gibrillont had done them well with all the ale that they could drink, assuming they had the coin for it. From squires to full-fledged knights, the brothers had been part of plenty of expeditions together and came out celebrated and with more gil than they knew what to do with. Often they poured it down their throats in whatever alcohol they could get their hands on, or what women they’d get to belligerently agree with their desires. It numbed the pain and kept them heaven on high -- what else was there to ask for?

Brisk footsteps carried her along until she was close enough behind them. Between the hissing winds and the raucous conversation they insisted on, she was the shadows stitched to their heels -- silent yet opportune. She knew them by name -- Arceneaux and Montaine -- given how frequently she visited the bar. She knew their drinks, their preferred spot, what hunts they picked up from the board when they had the time. Intimately had she acquainted herself with them -- so much so that they gave themselves and their commanding knight away.

Leather-bound fingers tightened around the hilt of the broadsword. She kept in perfect tempo, and only was Montaine aware of the tertiary presence when it was too late. Committing a sin this close to the Congregation was risky and foolish, but so were their actions that night. Put me to the guillotine if they need to. **_Their actions call for consequences._**

The matte black steel sliced through the air and cleaved Arceneaux’s arm straight through. Before he could scream, she shifted her weight on her feet and clamped a hand over his mouth. Heaving the weight of the blade was easy when she was fueled by sheer adrenaline and the cold; underneath all of her shade was a layer of frost on her body, fueled by anger, by necessity, by frustration, by shadow. It plunged through his chest with more effort than she thought she’d needed for it, and when she was through, she leaned her body back and expunged him from the blade with a boot to his back, kicking him off of it and flicking the viscera free from the metal.

Montaine’s eyes widened in horror, steel-plated boots fumbling backward. In his drunken state, he fell to the ground. The feeling of the hand still settled on his shoulder made him yelp out and swat at it, trying to pry the frigid fingers off of him. His harbinger sighed and made quick work, raising up the claymore with both hands and bringing it down with no pretense. One last choked out breath and his body went limp before she removed the blade, staring down silently.

Slinging the hefty blade to her back and ignoring the crimson dripping from its bulk, Rax moved to take their rings. Three for the collection. The anger that swelled within her like a storm refused to wind down. The eye howled as the blizzard within Ishgard’s walls only grew stronger -- snow nipping at cheeks already frosted and hidden by shadow. **_I took care of them. What more do you want from me?_**

Dwelling was meaningless and foolish. Disposal of the bodies was necessary yet she couldn’t remember most of the movements she made. Ser Ladrian’s body would be found buried under the snow, frozen cold; the twins were dumped over and past the Steps of Faith, into the endless waters below.

Yet when it was all said and done and she trudged her way back through the gates and into Foundation, there was still an empty hole -- still a desperation. The responsible were slain; he could rest in peace. Shades of her father’s grave flickered in her mind, and she let out a shuddered exhale as she cleansed her hands free of the blood that had seeped through her gloves. Even as the water dripped from her fingertips, scarlet mixed with ice..

**_The Fury will be left to judge you. And after that, what’s left beyond the blackened shade of your soul? Who will take you now?_ **


End file.
